


Hope Of Tomorrow, Hope Of More

by SecondFromTheRight



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: Now Clarke is the one to lower her focus, watching the way he swallows again, the way his upper body rises and falls with his quickened breathing. Her eyes start to water again, and she feels so sad suddenly. More than just hopeless, more than just tired, but an almost painful sadness, a loss. “I don’t know if I have more to give.” She says honestly, wishing it was different. But really, what can she give other than right now? She turns her head, her eyes drifting to the list still on the table in front of her. It promises a potential of something, of maybe a chance, but deep down she doesn’t think she believes it. A chance for their people, for Bellamy, for Raven and her mom and Kane. But not for her, even if her own name does stare back at her.Continuation of 4x03 scene.





	Hope Of Tomorrow, Hope Of More

“Get some sleep.” Bellamy tells her with his hand still a comforting weight on her shoulder, one she doesn’t one to give up. So she doesn’t move, tightens her grasp of her fingers over his and keeps her head resting on both instead.

“Bellamy.” She whispers against the skin of own her hand, hearing the tears in her own voice.

“Hey,” he starts as he crouches down next to her so they’re eye level. She tilts her head to look at him but doesn’t let go of his hand, his arm now stretched upwards to accommodate his new position. “We’ll figure it out.” He promises, staring at her.

Clarke stares back, searching his eyes for any doubt. She wants to believe him, but what if he’s wrong? What if they don’t figure it out? What if this is it and she never gets to tell him how grateful she is for him, never gets to feel him?

She lets her eyes trace down his face to his lips. She knows how much comfort his hand can give just resting on her shoulder, her back; she knows how much strength his hand in hers can give. So what can his lips do? What can they do on hers? She doesn’t know how long she stares at them, thinking maybe they’re the key to solace, to peace and rest and maybe even a shot of energy, of _life_ she can’t work up for herself anymore. Maybe she can find his hope from his lips. And he’s so close. She’s leaning in before she’s aware she’d made the conscious effort to, feeling her own hand fall away from his so she can reach for his face instead.

“Clarke.” He says in a rush, a warning in his tone that has her stilling and drawing back before she even gets to touch him.

“Right,” she acknowledges with a nod, her eyebrows pulling down. She sits back in her seat, her focus going from his lips, across the room until she’s staring straight ahead at nothing, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry.” She apologises numbly, very aware of the absence of the weight of his hand.

So stupid. She’s always had the worst timing. She never let Wells tell her how he felt, avoided it their whole lives because she was afraid how much it would change. She jumped in too quickly with Finn, and then too late to tell him how she felt. Even if she knew she couldn’t be with him again, she could have been more honest, sooner, instead of trying to prove a point to herself. Lexa…was any of that the right timing? Too caught up in herself, withdrawing from everything and everyone else because it was the only way she could keep going, only letting herself feel when their moment had already been taken away from them. Bellamy is the only one still here, still with her even after everything and she’s just about screwed that up. Again.

“I’m sorry.” She says again.

Maybe she got more than the timing wrong anyway. Maybe he isn’t interested like that. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk their partnership, especially right now when everything, everyone, is relying on it. God, she’s so selfish, she thinks shamefully as she hangs her head.

“It’s not…” Bellamy starts and stops, still crouched down next to her. She can hear his breathing. “Why?” he questions, making her turn to face him. His brows are furrowed as he looks at her. “I need to know,” he says carefully, swallowing. His focus flickers down away from her face briefly before looking up again. “Why are you doing it? Is it because you think we’re going to die?”

“Is that not a good reason?” she asks genuinely.

Bellamy looks down again, his eyes almost closing as he breaks the contact with her. His nostrils flare the slightest amount. The way he meets her eye again is slow, careful. “I want more than that.” He chokes out.

Now Clarke is the one to lower her focus, watching the way he swallows again, the way his upper body rises and falls with his quickened breathing. Her eyes start to water again, and she feels so sad suddenly. More than just hopeless, more than just tired, but an almost painful sadness, a loss. “I don’t know if I have more to give.” She says honestly, wishing it was different. But really, what can she give other than right now? She turns her head, her eyes drifting to the list still on the table in front of her. It promises a potential of something, of maybe a chance, but deep down she doesn’t think she believes it. A chance for their people, for Bellamy, for Raven and her mom and Kane. But not for her, even if her own name does stare back at her.

“Yes you do,” Bellamy says determinedly, grabbing her hand from her lap and tugging at her until she’s facing him again. “We’re going to get through this. Together,” he promises, looking at her with wide eyes that bore into her. “Both of us,” he emphasises. His focus falls away again, down to their hands now, still linked, still together. She’s reminded of another time with him kneeling in front of her and she doesn’t want to think about it. “And then we…” he trails off as he strokes his thumb back and forth across her palm. “If you still want…” he continues before meeting her eyes again, the surety now replaced with questioning.

It feels like she’s staring at hope itself. His own hope, for a chance they have together, is on display in front of her. And for her, he’s the hope of a reward if they get through this.

He looks unsure, an insecurity that even though she knows he’s so much more than what he lets some people see, still surprises her. She knows he’s not as untouchable as he can present to some, knows how much heart there is to him, and how fragile it can be sometimes, but he’s still the most capable person she knows. So it does surprise her. Though maybe it shouldn’t; she knows she’s hurt him, made him question how much he meant to her. But she doesn’t know how to reassure him of her want, her appreciation for him without showing him. And she can’t do that, she knows, though she finds herself staring at his lips again, thinking about it. She makes herself look lower, lifting her free hand and reaching out to place it on his chest. Clarke stares at her hand, placed over his heart and thinks about how lucky she is to have made an impact there like she has. She stares at her hand over his heart and hopes he gets it.

Bellamy brings his free hand to cover hers, making her think he does get it. She meets his eyes as he hooks his thumb under hers. Her mouth curls into a small smile as she looks at him, widening when he gives a nod, showing her he understands what she can’t say.

Letting out a deep exhale, Clarke presses against his chest barely before letting her hand fall away completely. “I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep.” She says, closing her eyes over.

“Here, come on.” Bellamy encourages as he stands up, pulling her up with him.

“Bellamy.” She complains as he walks her towards the couch he was dosing on only minutes previously, keeping her hand in his and putting his other on her lower back. She can feel herself swaying on her feet, feel herself bracing against the hold he has on her.

“It’s comfier than it looks, I promise.” He jokes with a half smile that she can’t help responding to. It does look comfy though, she thinks.

Clarke drops down onto the couch heavily, feeling herself bounce.

Bellamy chuckles. “Graceful.”

“Shut up.” She mumbles as she squints up at him, barely able to keep her eyes open, but she tries to to better see the smile on his face.

“Alright, get some sleep.” Bellamy repeats his instruction from earlier and suddenly she’s back there too, his hand linked with hers and not wanting Bellamy to leave. So she doesn’t let go this time either.

“Stay?” she requests, looking at their hands hanging together in front of him. She’s not used to asking for things. Demanding, instructing, when she knows it’s what’s needed, but not things like this.

Bellamy is still and quiet as he stands there. “Sure, yeah,” he finally says. “I can uh,” he turns his body to the rest of the room behind him. “I can go over some of the projections again.”

“No,” she cuts him off. She keeps her eyes down, zoned in on their hands still dangling together. She’s still not sure how to ask and she’s afraid she’ll stop altogether if she looks up at him, but she can see and feel him turn back to face her fully. Clarke tugs on his hand, enough that he shuffles two steps forwards until he’s right in front of her, pretty much blocking her vision of anything but him. Holding her breath she waits for his response, finally risking look up, having to tilt her head because he’s so close. But when she gets to his face, he’s not looking at her anyway. Instead, his focus is off to the side at the couch she’s sitting on. He looks like he’s assessing things. If he wants to lie down with her, stay with her? Or if he’s trying to figure out how they’ll fit, Clarke isn’t sure. But she keeps quiet and waits as she drops her head again, trying to embolden herself with the fact that he hasn’t let go of her hand yet, so she assumes he isn’t about to run out the room away from her at least.

“Shift back.” Bellamy finally says, instructs, in tone low.

Clarke’s eyes shoot back to his, her eyebrows scrunching with how much she has to look up. Now he is looking at her, staring at her. She stares back. It’s only when he raises his eyebrows, his eyes widening slightly and he nods once at her that she realises she is just staring at him, that she hasn’t moved. She cuts the eye contact, blinking, and finally lets go of his hand, embarrassed, and does as she’s told, shifting until she’s at the back of the couch. She brings her feet up and lies down on her side, her back pressed against the couch as she props herself with her elbow.

She feels the weight, the couch moving as Bellamy lies down next to her, the heat of him. She keeps her eyes set to his shirt, seeing only the tan colour. Now she’s aware she’s got exactly what she asked for and what she asked for was to be this close to Bellamy. The couch feels heavy against her back suddenly, trapping her in the small space.

She’s not good at this part either. She doesn’t really know how to…let go, like that. But she’s the one that asked him to stay. It’s stupid. She’s shared sleeping places with him before, with many of them, but being with someone, giving that much of herself – it’s different. She’s had so few moments like that in her life, none of them coming easy and some kind of heartbreak following every one of them and she can’t –

“Clarke.” Bellamy cuts into the tangents running through her mind, breaking the loud silence in the room.

Her eyes fly to him and he’s looking at her expectantly, waiting, but also patiently, like he _will_ wait. He watches her, his face soft though his eyebrows are pulled together. It seems to be what she needed because she finds herself lowering her body against him, relaxing, without thinking much more about it.

The easy way he immediately wraps his arm around her has her closing her eyes and breathing a sigh, has her letting go like she doesn’t know how to. Didn’t know how to. He’s warm and she lets it soothe her. She rests her cheek against his chest, hearing his heartbeat underneath her ear. Alive. He has to stay that way, she thinks. He’s the only one that has to. She doesn’t know what it is exactly - you she doesn’t want to examine it properly, too afraid to, never feeling like she could risk it, but survival rests with him, for her. It’s something she believes, feels. Without Bellamy…without Bellamy there’s nothing. And his heart…some of the things she’s done makes her wonder if she still has one. But it’s okay, because Bellamy is there with his, making up for whatever is missing from hers, still accepting and believing in her even if she’s hardened hers beyond repair.

Suddenly she finds herself crying again and she has to question if she ever stopped. Tears pool under her closed lids. She turns her face against him, hiding into him, her face flat against him and probably getting tear-stains all over him. Her mouth opens as she takes a shaky breath, feeling the material of his top under her lips. Bringing her hand up next to her cheek, she fists the cotton, screwing her eyes up and trying to stop the tears.

“Shhh.” Bellamy comforts, so quietly she wonders if she imagined it, the way he tightens his hold on her and starts smoothing his hand up and down her upper arm telling her otherwise.

“Bellamy,” She whispers tearfully. “Bellamy.” She repeats with a desperation that’s threatening to consume her. She isn’t even sure what it is she wants. They’re silent tears, she’s not sobbing and she doesn’t feel like she’s going to, but she can’t stop the flood of tears. Tiredness and frustration stealing all her usual ability to keep composure.

Bellamy brings up his other arm, cocooning her in both. She shifts with him, climbing higher against his body until she’s burying herself in his neck, her upper body practically flat on top of him, her knees still at his side, leaning on the cushions. She can’t even feel the back of the couch anymore, the only thing trapping her now is Bellamy and the relief and comfort she feels at it has more tears falling. She’s so tired, and in this moment, since they came back to The Ark after Polis, she finally feels like she’s not alone. But more than that, it feels like maybe she’s okay, to have this moment with him, to break down. To be tired, a mess. To be weak, even. In the darkness of this room, with Bellamy’s arms around her, it’s maybe okay. That’s what she wants, more moments where it’s okay, with him, where she can let go, where she can break and their world won’t be risked because of it. And she wants something beyond, something more. She wants Bellamy smiling and laughing, and to laugh with him. She wants him to take her hand when they’re not deciding who to kill, but just because he can, wants to. She wants days and nights together. She wants the loudness of being with everybody else in community, and the quiet of being with him. She wants to _live_.

“I want more too.” She says against his neck. His grip on her tightens even more, one of his hands sliding up her back until he’s holding her against him just as much as she’s clinging to him. She can still feel his heart, beating under her.

“We’ll get it. We will.” He promises, his voice in her ear making her realise how close he is.

Clarke wants to feel as confident, but she can’t. They never get a break and this here is more than she deserves anyway. She can’t believe with the faith he does, with the heart he does, but she does believe in him, she does trust him, so that’s what she gives back. “I believe you.” she breathes, her nose brushing against his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> I gotta be honest, I figured it would end up being smutty when I first decided to do something with this scene. Obviously it did not. So depending on how much other fic stuff I get done this weekend, I may attempt a smut alternative.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


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